


The Fluffy One

by gardenvarietyunique



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Gen, someone needs to dress up the kitties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardenvarietyunique/pseuds/gardenvarietyunique
Summary: Kerrigor awakens.





	The Fluffy One

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read Goldenhand yet, but I have spent a five-hour red eye flight writing dumb fic while mildly feverish. You're welcome.

  
Once he had been a prince, a scholar, a beloved son and friend, a secret wolf among the sheeplike incompetents whose morality blinded them to the inimitable powers of magic unchartered. He had been a betrayer, an agent of terror, a ruler rising to claim his rightful place among powers stronger by far than those he had been raised to revere. Once he had struck fear into the hearts of men. Monster, they called him. Necromancer.

  
Then there had been the great battle. Not even enchanted sleep provided relief from this most humiliating of defeats. Encapsulated, reduced, bound, he slept. He waited.

  
And he waited.

  
First, there was the gray hint of light. Then there was a sound. Finally, the touch of a hand. Kerrigor awoke.

  
“Sweet Charter stones,” a strange new voice said. “What a cute kitty!”

*

The first thing the new Abhorsen did was explore the basement. She was one of those detestable foreign exchange type Abhorsens, the kind who had been raised in Ancelstierre and stuffed full of dangerous Ancelstierran ideas when she could have been back in the Old Kingdom learning to fear death. Instead she asked questions.  
Why hadn’t these books of forbidden magic just been recycled? Was storing all this cursed metal really good for the environment? Why was this deep underground passage to the Clayr’s glacier blocked with the debris of a thousand-year-old landslide when it would have made liaisons with gorgeous Clayr women much simpler for all parties?

  
“We have to think of the real issues,” she explained to Mogget.

  
“Are they? I didn’t realize Abhorsens could think.”

“Shut up, Mogget, I’m having fun.”

  
“I already hate you,” he informed his new mistress, but she was too busy ringing one of her bells to spell the deepest basement door open. “You do know that door has been sealed for a reason, don’t you? Your grasp of history is abominable. Thank the Charter we’re not beyond the house. That kind of bell use will get you killed.”  
Not, he privately reflected, that losing the newest Abhorsen so soon would be a bad thing. It would take at least a week for the next in line to fly in from Belisaere. Just imagine the amount of songbirds you could eat in a week…

  
“Isn’t it ridiculous that I have to explore the basements at all? There is so much unrecorded junk down here, I can’t believe no-one’s ever attempted to catalogue it. What if some priceless magical artifact gets lost for thousands of years and just barely found at the right moment or something?”

“I’m sure if there’s anything like that, the Clayr will recognize it just in time.”

“Just in time to what? Make some half-assed plans?” The Abhorsen kicked a door down, to the horror of a sending that had tried to open it for her. The room beyond was deadly cold and lit by a single ray of magical overhead light. The light fell on a basket.

“Holy Charter,” the Abhorsen said, “What a cute kitty! Moggie, why didn’t you tell me you had a little friend?” The little black cat stood up, went in for a reflexive stretch, and stopped dead. “Little? Little?”

“She’s not wrong,” said Mogget, who had just doubled in size because he could.

“I am not little! I am Kerrigor, master of death, adept of free magic, enemy of the Charter. My power is immense, it is—“ the tiny black cat squeaked mid-word as the Abhorsen grabbed him. “Aw, you even have matching bells. Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a good baby boy? Come on, Mogget, let’s take the little guy upstairs.”

*

“Do you want this cute little blue sweater or the silver harness?”

Kerrigor hissed and screamed. Mogget, who had already been held down by two sendings and fastened, yowling, into a bright blue vest reading service cat, do not remove collar, had rolled his eyes.

“Sweater it is! I even had one of the sendings whip up a matching bow.”

Kerrigor had never seen anything more terrifying than his reflection in the mirror. Two enormous blue eyes and a pink heart nose floated in a sea of silky fluff. His fur was so expansive and cloud-like you could barely see the tufty little paws and soft, stocky legs. There was no other word for it. He, Kerrigor, once most foul and dreaded among the undead, was cute. Really cute.

“Think of it as an improvement,” said Mogget, who was cleaning his toes. “I’ve seen you look worse. Much worse.”

“I will free myself of this accursed form and finish what I started. Your precious Abhorsen shall be destroyed, creature!”

“Go right ahead. I could use a little entertainment.”

“I am Kerrigor,” Kerrigor tried, turning to the young woman instead. “Lord of the unchartered, wielder of free magic, matricidal daredevil. Fear me.”

“More like Cutie-gor,” the Abhorsen said, and scratched his tail. His butt went straight up in the air and his throat rumbled. It was humiliating.

*

The Old Kingdom hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Fitted sleeves were out, slashes and puffs were in, hand-forged replicas of Ancelstierrran weapons were more common, and the Clayr had revised their educational system to include counseling, but in all other ways the world beyond the wall was the same it had always been.

In fact, so many of the events of the past had been smoothed into upbeat history lectures that no-one even batted an eye when the Abhorsen showed up with two cats instead of one.

“It is I, the Abhorsen,” the Abhosen said gravely. She took in the worn faces of the village elders, the fearful eyes of the children, the fog of tension in the air. “I have come to banish the dead thing that plagues you.”

*

Alone on a hill top in the fading light, the Abhorsen drew a diamond of protection.

“We’re going into Death,” she declared. “You two’ll come with me.”

“I would rather die than be caught dead in this ensemble,” said Kerrigor, but she picked him up anyway. Mogget wrapped himself around the Abhorsen’s shoulders as she stepped into Death. The river’s familiar stench was cold and brutal.

“Whoever you are, hurry up,” the Abhorsen shouted, shaking Mosrael. “I’m missing the biggest ball of the Belisaere season for this, asshat.”

“Next time, try saying that in front of the villagers,” Mogget advised. “Your great-great-great-grand-aunt would have. Trust me.”

“Shut up, Mogget.”

Kerrigor closed his eyes while they bickered. Sleep-bringing Ranna was now his least favorite of the bells. He felt an insatiable urge to sleep all the time, and you had to be constantly on your toes around the Abhorsen or she would sneak a squeeze on your toe beans. The villain.

Kerrigor had just settled in for a nap when he heard it. Someone was splashing around beyond the diamond.

“That’s right, get your butt over here,” the Abhorsen hollered, swinging Kibbeth around. Kerrigor didn’t have time to think about how quickly she would get herself killed. He knew that splash.

The creature bled through the mist like ink across parchment.

“Hey,” said the haunt. “Don’t I know you?”

“I’m the Abhorsen,” said the Abhorsen.

“Not you, him.”

*

The haunt wasn’t one of the greater dead, but it was no longer one of the lesser dead either. It would have liked to class itself as one of the greater middling dead but in actuality it was closer to middling dead nouveau riche, seeing as it had only garnered a higher degree of status, experience, and soul-numblingly horrific form over the last two hundred years. In the world of the dead, it was a long slow (and usually fruitless) slog upwards from despondence to life worth living. If you have difficulty imagining this, imagine Ancelstierran corporate life. It’s just like that.

This particular creature was currently in possession of assorted used parts arranged in more or less human form. It was definitely more less than more.  
Accordingly, all its dialogue has here been translated. The original sound was closer to a series of morbid groans, but careful listening (and adjusting for a palate with all the soft bits dripping out) reveals the true meaning behind the sounds.

“We used to work together,” the creature said.

“I doubt it,” Mogget muttered, “I have standards.” He looked at the Abhorsen. “Had standards.”

“Not you,” said the creature with its flapping mandible and wormy tongue. “Him. The fluffy one.”

For the first time in his long life, Kerrigor wished he were truly, completely dead. _The fluffy one._

“Sure, you weren’t as fluffy, and I definitely don’t remember any little sweaters, but there’s something about the general aura of hateful resentment that strikes me as really familiar.”

“Definitely not.”

“Where was it we met? Seventh precinct? Eighth? Are you sure you didn’t used to be a powerful necromancer? I swear I remember stalking some mortals across time and space for you. Like it was yesterday.”

“You know, you’re very talkative for one of the greater dead,” the Abhorsen said. “Can I just say I appreciate that? Less bell-wielding on my part, more self expression on yours. So refreshing. You must astonish a lot of necromancers.”

“And then kill them,” said the creature. “Very important, that last part. Nearly got one of your predecessors. Point of pride with the lads in the lower precincts, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You have got to tell me all about it.”

“May I just say, I appreciate your asking? No musical compulsion involved? It’s so refreshing to be treated like a living creature again.”

“I’ve always felt that the Old Kingdom lacked a certain level of friendliness,” the Abhorsen agreed. “People here are so old-fashioned, really classist, all this monarchy and strict division between the living and the dead? It’s downright depressing. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been across the wall?”

“Now that you mention it, I have been!” The dead creature was visibly excited, which is not a sight for the weak of stomach. It grinned from ear to ear. There was a particularly impressive maggot colony under its left cheekbone. “That was back when—are you sure you don’t remember me? I was a mordicant at the time? You had this hunky human form bespelled in a sarcophagus?

“Come on, we spent time together. Remember when I was all, ‘master, the Abhorsen has fled in a strange flying object that I don’t think she has the safety training for,’ and you were all, ‘I’m not reanimating you for your opinion on air control, there are plenty of other monsters who would kill for this job’? No?”

Kerrigor attempted to fluff his tail out, which wasn’t difficult because what snark was to Mogget, fluff was to Kerrigor. Something about his inordinate vanity as a living man had translated into a shockingly dramatic feline appearance. Ancelstierran breeding clubs would have fallen all over themselves for a chance to start shit over his relative perfection compared to all their own varieties of flat-snooted, puffy-tailed, uncomfortably doll-like kitties.

“I’m sure that this Kerrigor, whoever he is, was a necromancer to truly be feared,” Kerrigor said. “But obviously someone so terrific, so endowed with natural malevolent magnificence, would not be caught dead in bows or little sweaters. Or enslaved to the Abhorsen.”

“Dunno,” said the dead creature, “he was always very stylish.”

“Do I look stylish to you?”

There was a long silence. “I think so,” said the Abhorsen at last, sounding hurt. The dead creature scratched its head. Bits of unidentifiable organic material dripped down its skull.

“You sure you wouldn’t be really into dramatic entrances?”

“You should see him getting out of a basket,” the Abhorsen said. “The most excessive stretching. Very graceful. Such a cute cat.”

“Look, I hate to make things awkward,” said the dead creature, “but I really put in my all for you, man. Do you know how hard it was for me to follow the Abhorsen day and night? Especially in the day. Sometimes without even full cloud cover. I got sunburns on my infernal corporeal matter for you. The least you could do is remember me. Kevin. Kevin the mordicant?”

Before Kerrigor could say anything, the Abhorsen had whipped out a bell. “Get your rank ass straight back into death and through the ninth gate, Kevin,” she commanded, Saraneth and Kibbeth singing out in dual tones of nonnegotiable force.

“You owe me back wages,” Kevin screamed as it vanished through the gate. They stepped back out into life.

*

“That was unexpected,” said Mogget.

“I am the Abhorsen,” the girl replied. “What else did you expect me to do?” Gently, she tucked the two bells back into their bandolier and fastened the straps, careful not to let the tongues sound out now that she was back among the living. “Come on, we have to go tell the villagers that the danger has passed. And maybe get something to eat. I’m wasting away here. All the Ancelstierran candy I tried to pack decomposed on the flight over.”

Kerrigor trotted next to her on the walk back, his magnificent plume of a tail low and swishing. Mogget, watching lazily from his new post around the Abhorsen’s shoulders, said nothing.

“Kerry, I hope you don’t feel like I used your relationship with Kevin unfairly back there.”

“If you’re going to offer him forgiveness—“ Mogget started.

“Because you lost all your rights to fair treatment when you betrayed your family and tried to destroy the Charter. Don’t you both look at me like that, I know my history. You think just because everyone else in this technophobic hellscape is incapable of doing anything with history besides cryptic kids’ rhymes, Ancelstierran education is the same? There’s a reason they don’t routinely have armies of the living dead shambling around asking for back wages.” She gave that further thought. “Depending on your definitions of ‘living’ and ‘dead’.”

“We’ve gotten along just fine,” said Mogget.

“I wouldn’t call ‘have to narrowly redefine the boundaries between life and death on a regular basis’ just fine,” the Abhorsen said. She grabbed one of them under each arm, ignoring the yowls of humiliation. “But we’re going to make a great team. Now let’s go home and get changed.”

“Finally,” Kerrigor muttered.

“My surcoat is ruined, and you guys need baths.”


End file.
